Not to derail, but our fathers might have been at Benning at the same time. He was at both Benning and Bragg when I was a little guy. Retired Army Special Forces Colonel. Summer after my freshman year in college, I volunteered, along with a couple of ex high school teammates that were also playing college ball, to help the local NAIA college in Kerrville put on a two day baseball camp. I went out that Friday night with aforementioned teammates and caught up. Come 2am, it was time for me to head back to my folkās place. A buddy dropped me off at my folks house, and I was fifty times more than shitfaced. I was having trouble walking up the stairs to my bedroom when the stairway light came on. My dad began verbally tearing me a new asshole, while mom bit her tongue. I continued to make my way up the stairs to my room, as my dad kept grabbing my shirt to turn me around so I could look him in the eyes while he spoke to me. I was about three quarters of the way UP the stairs, when he tried one last time to turn me around. Up until that point in my life, Iād never missed a left cross if I threw it. Being left handed, it was my go to if I couldnāt talk my way out of whatever situation Iād gotten myself into. That forth and final tug on my shirt sleeve, caused me to make the āwiseā decision to swing at my dad. I missed, well. The next thing I know, Iām up against the wall (DOWN AND AROUND THE CORNER OF THE STAIRCASE THAT I WAS 3/4 OF THE WAY UP). Iām against the wall, with my feet about four inches off of the ground, and my father, whoās two inches shorter than me, is holding me up by my throat. My mother is losing her mind, and heās staring through my soul. He said, āNever make me do this again. Apologize to your mother, get upstairs, and get some restā. People can say whatever they want about whipping their dadās ass as a right of passage, but I think with some fathers and sons, itās just law of nature. At least I hope so, because my father is 77 years old, and you couldnāt pay me to try that shit again.